


Mise en Place

by 1lostone



Category: Chopped (US), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternative Universe- Chefs, Bonus Points if you can list all the Trek references, Food Porn, Footnotes Are A Thing, K/S Advent Calendar 2017, Khan is a dick, Kirk And Spock are eerily competitive, M/M, Meant to be Funny- Not cracky, No I wish I wasn't joking, Someone is goin' down, Space Husbands, Working Title- Food Porn... In Spaaaaaaaaaaace, alternative universe, i blame jlm for everything, shockingly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-02-16 00:47:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13043025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1lostone/pseuds/1lostone
Summary: Four chefs. Three courses. One chance to win. Federation Food Network’sCHOPPED!





	1. Round 1- Appetizers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foxyk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxyk/gifts), [Rimedio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rimedio/gifts).



> First of all, look at this amazing art. I started talking to [Rimedio](https://rimedio8.tumblr.com) in chat, and we hit it off pretty well. Imagine my surprise when I found out that the KS Advent mods paired us together!   When I told them of my story idea there was an admirable job of not laughing directly in my face, nor did they run away screaming. I’ve embedded the art with permission, and I ask that you please, please, go 
> 
> ##  [ HERE ](https://rimedio8.tumblr.com/post/168640055470/ks-advent-2017)
> 
> to give them some love.
> 
> So!  Without further ado:
> 
> **Main image**
> 
> (
> 
>  
> 
> **and this**
> 
>  
> 
> **BONUS TOS**
> 
> AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH THEY ARE SO PERFECT!!!!!!  
>    
>  Now that you’ve done so, fair warning. As of this moment, this fic is unfinished. 1000 apologies. RL was being a jackass for a bit.  I promise to get this done as soon as possible. I hope to post by the end of Advent, but at worst, it will be by the end of the year! Feel free to skip if WIPs aren’t your thing.  You can also subscribe to either the fic or my author page so you'll get notifications.  
>    
>  There needed to be a rather schmaltzy and verbose AN because on this fic it truly took a village.
> 
> I’ve been dying to play around with the format of a Terry Pratchet style of writing. (although making the spacing look right is a bitch. Sorry if you see something funky-just point it out to me and I'll edit!) Please don’t take any of this very seriously, timeline wise. I know this isn’t a true script format, but I did my best. :D Just suspend your disbelief for a moment or three, and we can move this right along. Try to gird your loins, folks. We got this.
> 
> Some things to know-  This fic is dedicated to my friend, **FoxyK**. It was horrible keeping it a surprise for her, and bb I hope you enjoy this bit of ridiculousness. We both have been so busy that it wasn’t too hard to keep a secret- which normally you know I’m absolute crap at.  Love you!
> 
> While Foxy K is my “normal” beta, **Justley** agreed to step in. But I fiddled with the format quite a bit, so any mistakes are mine. Still, thank you for taking a look at it.
> 
> As always, I blame **Jlm121** for everything, and so should you. My best friend, by biggest cheerleader, the original supplier of food porn, and the reason this fic even took off. . . Thank you, and I can’t wait to see you soon!
> 
> Thank you to **La_Temperanza** for their [ amazing tutorials ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4579026) on how to do cool shit on AO3!
> 
> ***SAYS A PRAYER THAT I DID IT RIGHT***
> 
>   
>  And finally, thanks as always to the [mods at ksadvent ](https://ksadvent.livejournal.com/). Each year they organize this without fail, without complaint, and all in order to give us much lovely Trek fic to read during the holiday season. Thank you to Amanda and Ashley for making everyone's holidays just a wee bit better. 
> 
> Note- You can also read this [on the K/S Archive ](https://ksarchive.com/viewstory.php?sid=7029&warning=1)!

*****

**FFN [1] CHARITY CHOPPED[2] EPISODE **

**FADE IN: [3]**

****INT: [4] ** Interplanetary Federation Food Network logo flashes across the center of the screen. A bright flash of light and slowly building uptick of music, vaguely reminiscent of Vulcan _Rumarie_ , Terran Winter Solstice , Klingon _Kot'baval_ and Talaxian _Prixin_ ; drums, gong, chimes, lute, lyre and jingle bells crescendo together dramatically, albeit creatively, leaving the listener with the feeling of holiday cheer.**

 

Quick flash on the Risan Grande logo then,

**ADMIRAL PIKE VO:  [5]**

Greetings! Today, at the height of the Risian Holiday season, we bring you the highly anticipated event bandied about the comms from the Kylata system all the way to Cancri IVII. You’ve heard the rumors, and seen the hype, but now it’s time for the most highly anticipated contest ever to hit the Hedon Ballroom of the Risan Grande!

Four spotlights flash across the audience’s faces; showing the clapping and excitement of those chosen to watch what is clearly a highly anticipated event.  As one, the spotlights turn to highlight the pristine kitchen set up in the middle of the stadium.  Four cooking stations are set up side by side, the flash of what viewers recognize as the food pantry, and the music hits a peak as the house lights completely dim, leaving only the four points of light shining like beacons down onto the stainless steel tables below.

**(pause)**

All three cameras pan onto Admiral Pike’s face. He stands tall and proud, blue eyes seeming to take in all things at once- the audience, the beautiful, upscale setting provided by the hotel, the dramatic set. He is dressed impeccably, if a little  quirkily [6] in a charcoal grey shirt with a lime green and lavender striped tie. There is a small flower from Bringloid V nestled in his lapel; the bright lavender petals barely starting to open. His shoes are lime green and gleam in the stage lights. Slowly, the cameras focus on a close up of his extremely handsome face.

**ADMIRAL PIKE:**

**(smiling)**

You’ve heard about the contestants. You’ve heard about the delectable confectionary delights created by our four chefs. Tickets to this event have been sold out for six months, and I can confirm that ticket prices were rumored to have reached astronomical sums, all gathered for the winner of this event to donate to the charity of xir choice.  

The camera pulls away from tight shot on **PIKE** ’s face.

**PIKE CON’T**

Culinary spots were by invite only, and

**(indicates cooking area)**

Competition behind the scenes was fierce to narrow it down to these four supremely talented chefs. Tonight, _live_ , we will see who has the culinary hutzpah to win the most prestigious cooking prize known in modern history. Can they handle the pressure? Or, will they lose their head?

I bring you:

**(pause)**

Four chefs. Three courses. One chance to win.

Federation Food Network’s **_CHOPPED_ **!  

 **AUDIENCE** applauds wildly, stamping feet, waving tentacles, and vocalizing in various languages.

 

**PIKE CONT’D:**

And now, without further ado, let’s meet the chefs!

Lights flicker, spotlights swooping over the audience members as though to echo their excitement. A set of double doors open, and a man in Chef Blues is seen walking through.  He pauses for a moment and a flash of irritation seems to flit briefly over his face. His eyebrows narrow as he rolls his eyes as though finding the situation in which he now finds himself utterly ridiculous. He folds his arms across his chest as two spotlights cross over his head, illuminating him from head to foot.

**PIKE (V.O)**

Known throughout several star system for his ‘down home’ flair to exotic cuisine, Chef Leonard “Bones” McCoy!

 **BONES** crosses over to the **ADMIRAL** and shakes his hand, still looking grouchy.

**PIKE:**

A pleasure to meet you at last, Chef McCoy. Tell me, what do you have to say about all of this? Quite a lot of people are cheering you on. Are you nervous about the judges tonight?

 

**BONES:**

**(if possible- looks even grouchier.)**

Admiral, I’m a chef, not a damn circus monkey. I’ll cook what I cook and they’ll either like it or not.

**(a slow, almost flirtatious smile crosses his lips)**

I aim t’please though, and mean to win some credits tonight.

 

**PIKE:**

**(looks flustered, slightly, from the impact of Bones’naughty grin  [7].)**

Ah. Uh. Indeed. And for which Charity do you play tonight?

 

**BONES:**

**(his demeanor completely changes, his grin flashing with a glimpse of white teeth; shoulders straightening.)**

I am very honored to cook tonight for Federation Medical.

 

**PIKE:**

That’s right. You were on track to be a doctor, were you not?

 

**BONES:**

**(nodding)**

Sure was. But life happened, and here I am. Can’t say I regret a minute of it, but the Medical units always seem to fall short of fancypants donors. Hopefully, tonight I’ll be able to help balance those scales a bit.

 

**PIKE:**

Only time will tell-

**(Indicates chef station)**

-If you have the surgical precision needed to win this evening.

 **PIKE** turns to face the main camera as **BONES** raises one eyebrow, turns, then walks towards the indicated chef station.

 

**PIKE:**

Now let’s meet tonight’s second chef.

Spotlights again flash around the audience seating, panning over the set of double doors. There is another pause, and the doors open. A diminutive being enters. He is obviously of mixed species, however his features are utterly nondescript, despite having orange skin, larger than Teran eye holes, and the bright red chef’s jacket. He tugs nervously on his uniform and walks quickly to where **PIKE** stands, smiling professionally at the man, although there is clearly none of the camaraderie between the two as evidenced between **BONES** and **PIKE**. The **AUDIENCE** applauds politely.

**PIKE CONT’D:**

**(obviously looking at the teleprompter)**

We are pleased to welcome Chef Carmine [8] Sark [9] to our kitchen this evening. Known for his . . . er. . . ‘nourriture ennuyeuse’ for those with a mild palate, Chef Sark plans to win by. . . uh. What is your strategy, sir? And for which charity do you play tonight?

 

**SARK:**

Honestly, I’m not entirely sure how I made it through the preliminary round, but my strategy is just to always give it my all and do my very best.

**(He smiles nervously.)**

****My charity is for a local Regular Engineering Division of Singularly Homogenized Individuals

Returning from Timely Situations, or REDSHIRTS[10].

 

**PIKE:**

Always an admirable endeavor, Chef Stark. Er. _Sark_. And a truly memorable charity.

**(He indicates the station next to BONES.)**

I wish you all the best!

 

 **SARK** walks quickly to the indicated station and bends to find a hand towel, where he awkwardly mops his face, flushing a burnt orange when **BONES** clearly side-eyes him.

 

**PIKE:**

And now, it is with great pleasure that I introduce our next Chef.

 

The doors open once again and whipcord lean figure pauses in the doorway. The crowd as one immediately hushes, and an almost palpable awe exudes from the absolute silence as they strain for a better view. Lights shift, highlighting the being’s face and an audible gasp of shock is heard as they realize exactly who this is. The Vulcan stands with his arms behind his back, at sort of a parade rest. The black, Vulcan-style tunic mimics a Chef’s jacket while still very clearly being from Vulcan. He walks forward, directly to **PIKE** , and pauses expectantly.

 

**PIKE CONT’D:**

Owner of the critically acclaimed Kobayashi Maru, it is with great honor that we include a chef known throughout numerous star systems for his high-end molecular gastronomy: Chef S'chn T'gai Spock.

 

Applause slowly starts to build up from the **AUDIENCE** , as though not sure of its welcome. Camera pans onto a very young human male with a Vulcan-style haircut, wearing what appears to be black pajamas replicated into something that closely resembles SPOCK’s Chef’s blacks. He mouths ‘It’s actually him! It’s Spock!’ before beginning to applaud wildly, as fast as his little hands can move..

**PIKE CONT’D:**

Chef Spock, how do you feel that your creative logic transcend into your cooking?

 

**SPOCK:**

**(waits impassively for the audience to silent themselves.)**

The challenge of creating aesthetically pleasing, nutritionally sound cuisine, yet still respecting the multitude of inter-planetary, inter-species palates is only logical.

 

**PIKE:**

Indeed, we look forward to your contributions this evening. And for what charity do you play for?

 

**SPOCK:**

**(Spock raises one eyebrow.)**

I **( he pauses)** _compete_ for the Vulcan Culinary Academy.

 

Some of the audience members _ooooh_ and _aaahh_ at the mention of the prestigious culinary institute.  WIthout being asked to do so, Spock about faces, and with almost military precision walks to the station next to **SARK**.

 **PIKE** , who clearly had a need for additional soundbytes, looks a little frazzled as **SPOCK** , for all intents and purposes, leaves him hanging. he clears his throat, and tugs at his uniform, turning back to the camera.

**PIKE:**

And finally, it is with the utmost pleasure, I bring you our next guest; a man who needs no introduction.

  
The **AUDIENCE** , although sensing who **PIKE** is introducing, freezes with an anticipatory silence. The lights dim and start to strobe, while the 20th century classic ‘Intergalactic [11]’ pounds through the hotel’s speakers. The lights stop strobing and two beams of light cross onto the double doors. A man steps through, and the crowd goes _insane_ , stomping and screaming. One woman with two tails shrieks something intelligible and faints. A human woman pulls down her shirt and thrusts her chest towards the man, giving him a pen to sign her breasts.  Looking a little flustered, the man does, then continues walking walking towards **PIKE**.

**PIKE**

“You might know him from his daring and highly publicized scandal involving his egress from the _Kobayashi Maru_. Chef and owner of the acclaimed _Enterprise,_ may I introduce ‘Captain’ James T. Kirk!

 **KIRK**  plants his feet and gives his full attention to the camera, looking both confident and slightly exasperated at the farcical exuberance of the **AUDIENCE**.

**KIRK**

Thank you, Thank you. I’m so excited to be here. This is really amazing.

 

**PIKE**

Tell me, are you ready for the pressure?

 

**KIRK**

Absolutely! I came here to cook, and I came here to win.

 

**PIKE**

And which charity do you play for this evening?

 

 **KIRK’s** facial expression turns even more sincere, with a clearly remembered darkness flitting briefly over his features.

**KIRK**

Tonight I play for the Tarsus Foundation.

 

The **audience** is respectfully silent. one could hear a pin drop.

**PIKE**

Indeed. A worthy endeavor, known for supporting the few that survived such a horrific tragedy.  With the recent capture of Kodos the Executioner, and the subsequent “accidental” release of the previously sealed records, the Tarsus Foundation has come under a recent political light when several million credits were donated anonymously- not just once, not twice but _five_ times in the most recent lunar cycle! I’m quite sure that they will appreciate your efforts here tonight, Mr. Kirk.

 

 **KIRK** nods and moves quietly to stand next to **SPOCK**. the Vulcan barely reacts, except for a minuscule eye twitch that on anyone else would fairly shout ‘exasperation.’   **PIKE** nods once, and stands at the center of his mark.

**PIKE**

Without further ado, let’s begin!As you well know, Chopped is a challenge involving mystery baskets of food items. All of our ingredients are limited to Federation planets, and have been replicated. All chefs must make a succulent and creatively palate-pleasing meal for each course in which they compete. . .. before time runs out. So the question remains. . . who will win the prize. . .. and who will be **CHOPPED**?

 **PIKE** walks to his spot closer to the four chefs and their cooking stations. the stage remains dark, except for a single spotlight shining on all four contestants and pike.  he looks towards the camera.

**PIKE**

Welcome chefs. Here are the rules. There are three rounds. Appetizer, Entree and dessert. Each course has its own basket. Each item in the basket must be utilized in some way before the time runs out. To assist you, all chefs have access to the pantry and refrigerator. Replicators are prohibited. At the end of the time, our judges will critique your meals on presentation, taste, and creativity. Can you handle the pressure? Or will you be. . . **CHOPPED**?

 

 **PIKE** indicates the shelving under each prep station, and each contestant bends to retrieve the black picnic basket. **PIKE** smiles at the contestants.

**PIKE (V.O.)**

Chefs. Please open your baskets. Our items include:Festive Peppermint Sticks (Candy Canes) Klingon _naH’Hegh-Deb_  or fruitcake, geoduck [1] and an Andorian sparkling cider.

 

Camera pans to each chef as they pull out the ingredients. **SPOCK** looks impassive as always. Both **SARK** and **BONES** stare a bit doubtfully at the geoduck, while **KIRK** grins widely and waggles his eyebrows at the Audience. **PIKE** steps forward  and interviews **BONES,** who is now tasting the _naH’Hegh-Deb_ a bit doubtfully. **BONES** wrinkles his nose and looks up at **PIKE** , clearly disgruntled at the interrupted.

**PIKE**

Mr. McCoy. Tell us about your dish.

 

**BONES**

What kind of damnfool producer decided that we needed Klingon _fruitcake_ ? Ho Ho **_No_**.

**(He frowns.)**

But, I’m thinking of hot salad of beans, geoduck, cabbage and a lemon balsamic reduction with a tiny bit of a hot pepper for a kick.

     

**PIKE**

That sounds delightful. I wish you luck.

 

**BONES**

**(Winks)**

Luck is for amateurs, darlin’.

             

 **PIKE** is seen stumbling briefly, cheeks a fiery red. Two identically large screens lower slowly from the ceiling, one for each side of the **AUDIENCE.** The screen splits into four screens, showing each chef as they move around the kitchen space.

 **SARK** moves to the pantry and seems to be staring at the spices blankly.   **KIRK** selects a fine Andronian olive oil and what appears to be green onions, peppers, and leeks. On the screens, the **AUDIENCE** members laugh outright as **PIKE** ’s eyes widen noticeably as  he walks towards **SPOCK** , who is breaking down the geoduck at his station.     

     

**PIKE**

**(standing so that he is fully in control again, obviously giving his full attention to the Vulcan in front of him.)**

Mr. Spock. Please tell us what you plan to cook today.

 

 **SPOCK** ’s knifework is precise as he finishes breaking the geoduck into small pieces. He puts the protein into a bowl and sets a cheesecloth over it. He turns to put his shells from the geoduck into the pot of boiling water, then turns back to **PIKE** , clearly not willing to jeopardize his craft by explaining his meal.

**SPOCK**

This evening I will create a seafood crab cake with a citrus, peppermint chutney.

 

**PIKE**

And how do you feel about competing with James Kirk, the young man who so famously left the Maru. I believe there were allegations of cheating?

 

**SPOCK**

**(raises an eyebrow.)**

Vulcans do not “feel” as you are well aware. Regarding Mr. Kirk. . . .

 

 **SPOCK** rails off, staring as **KIRK** comes back towards his workstation, setting the ingredients on the stainless steel counter. The Vulcan blinks and the look he turns on **PIKE** is not in any way overtly unfriendly, but it is very clear that he does not appreciate the question.

 

**SPOCK cont’d**

. . . You are welcome to check the newscoms.

 

 **SPOCK** very deliberately cores two Granny Smith apples, then peels them so that the entire skin comes off in two huge rings. He then starts chopping the apples into precise squares, and puts them into a silver bowl. He then pulls the _naH’Hegh-Deb_ and uses a large fork to quickly separate the dried fruit and nuts from the cake.  Spock  puts the bits of dehydrated fruit into a saucepan, and pours some cranberry and some orange juice into it, allowing the fruit to rehydrate and absorb the flavor of the juices.

**PIKE**

**(Clearly discomforted by the lack of response from Spock)**

Chefs, you have fifteen minutes left on the clock. And now, it is time to introduce one of the most important elements to this competition- the judges.

 

 **PIKE** walks towards the judges table, which until now had been in utter darkness, the three silhouettes completely anonymous.

 

**PIKE CONT’D**

As you are no doubt aware, there are three judges that will determine the winner of each round. Our judges are the absolute tops in their field, and bring a stellar amount of experience to the table.  First, is the incomparable. . . T’Pau!

 

T’Pau is an elderly but still statuesque Vulcan, wearing dark blue and silver formal robes and an elaborate hairstyle. The **AUDIENCE** starts to applaud wildly, but when **T’PAU** looks over at them impassively, they immediately stop.

**PIKE CONT’D**

Esteemed as one of the founding members of the Vulcan Culinary Academy, she famously refused a seat on the Federation Cuisine Institute’s board of directors. After the recent tragedy and known for her impeccable vegetarian cuisine, T’Pau will be tough to impress. Our second judge is a hard-working author of the book _Thinking of Cuisine_  and _When You Know What Xe Wants For Dinner-But Don’t Want To Make It_.  [13] She’s also worked as a Federation psychologist and has come shuttle-direct from the Aldebaron colony. She is. . . Doctor Elizabeth Dehner!

The **AUDIENCE** applauds wildly, and the small, blonde woman smiles gratefully at them. While she is petite, she almost dwarfs T’Pau standing next to her. **DEHNER** ’s science blues gleam in the spotlight and she turns to look thoughtfully at the chefs who are still working quickly at their stations. The  **CAMERA** pans to one individual in the audience who, quite solemnly, pulls an aluminum-foil tinhat over his head and stares at  **DEHNER** with a frown on his face.

 

**PIKE CONT’D**

Our last and final judge has been an expert at genetically altered organically-grown fruits, vegetables and animals for most of his lifetime. Known for the axiom ‘superior freshness breeds superior organics’, and his absolutely merciless approach to cuisine, this judge will be quite the toughie to impress. May I present to you, Khan Noonien Singh!

 

The **AUDIENCE** freezes. There is one beat of silence. The two. **KHAN** ’s lip curls slowly as he stares derisively at the **AUDIENCE** , who seems to shrink back as one away from his baleful stare. He crossed his arms over his finely-muscled, black-clad chest and generally looked as though everything within his cold gaze was beneath them.

 

**PIKE CONT’D**

Given this once-in-a-lifetime competition, we have encouraged the judges to go into the kitchen, to watch and discuss the ingredients and and cuisine choices of the contestants.

**(He looks at clock, which reads 10:10 and counting)**

Speaking of which, Chefs, you have  a little more than _ten minutes_!

 

**KIRK**

Oh, _shit_!

 **KIRK** makes a face as he squeezes some lemon into something cooking in a saucepan. He turns gracefully, moving naturally in the kitchen as **SPOCK** calls out a low “behind!” as he passes behind **KIRK** with four plates, eyes flicking around **KIRK** ’s station, before an infinitesimal frown mars his face. **KIRK** stares at **SPOCK** with a very visible double-take, and mutters something about “already plating?!” under his breath. **KHAN** , like a shark scenting blood in the water, moves immediately towards where **KIRK** is putting together his ingredients.

 

**KHAN**

**(looming over KIRK’s cooking station)**

Tell me, Mister Kirk, what it is that you are. . . massacring. . .  over there.

 

**KIRK**

**(looks up, blinking,  a little shocked to see KHAN instead of PIKE holding a microphone.)**

Uh. Some leeks and mint.

**(He starts to chop more professionally, the knife cuts perfect and uniform.)**

 

**KHAN**

And what is it that you prepare for our enjoyment?

 

**KIRK**

I am creating a sparkling cider and mint remoulade for geoduck clam cakes and I plan to pair those with a Frisée and arugula salad with a light peppermint vinaigrette. It will be... ah. Delicious.

 

 **KIRK** seemingly ignores **KHAN** , as he moves from the geoduck and crab mixture in the metal bowl on to breaking down the fruitcake, removing the  fruit and nuts and tossing the rest into a food processor. **KIRK** tastes one of the red pieces of fruit from the cake. He chews for a minute, makes a very obviously disgusted face, and reaches under the stainless steel table for a glass of water to wash the rest of it down with.  He visibly gathers himself and turns to grab some egg yolk and oil, and begins whisking the mixture until it turned into mayonnaise then adds the cider and mint, some salt, and whisks again. **KIRK** tastes it, then adds a bit more cider. He quickly grinds up most of the peppermint candy, before dusting a little over the mint and cider remoulade.

 

**PIKE**

And Mr. Sark. What do you plan on making for the judges this evening?

 

**SARK**

**(looking panicked)**

AHHHH!

 

Flame jets up from the stove. **SARK** grabs at the pan then screams before he drops it again, swearing under his breath, and waving his hand back and forth. It is quite obvious that **SARK** has burnt his candy, and his hand.   **SPOCK** looks over and raised his eyebrow inquiringly, but doesn’t stop as he worked on his chutney, his movements smooth and graceful in contrast to the clearly flustered flailing of **SARK** .   **PIKE** moved quickly away, clearly afraid that he might burst into flame. **KHAN** continued to stare balefully at **KIRK** who maintained a stoic and stubborn level of ignorance of the judge’s presence.

 **T’PAU** and **DEHNER** sat at the judges’ table,  watching as the four men continued to cook. **DEHENER** cocked her head slightly, her strangely silver eyes lighting on **BONES** as he cut up what looked to be a  charred habanero and added some of it to the reduction on the stove.

 

**PIKE**

It looks as though Chef Kirk and Chef Spock are clearly plating. Both have set out the plates and are beginning the process. Chef Bones is only moments behind, and Chef Sark. . . er. Well. It appears that we’ll have quite the delectable creations to taste in _two minutes_!

 

 **SPOCK** ’s lithe form bent carefully over his plate. He had taken some red Vulcan rock salt, and set the boiled clean geoduck shells and set them in the center. He carefully dusted the shells with peppermint dust, and set a clamcake in the center. **SPOCK** then garnished the cake with chives and a tiny kebob of the fruit from the fruitcake, arranged with small piece of spun sugar from the peppermint candy from the top of the clamcake.  In the other shell, his cider and _naH’Hegh-Deb_ fruit chutney sat almost proudly. With tweezers, **SPOCK** carefully placed tiny pieces of  reconstructed fruit caviar [16], recreated from the cider and pureed fruit, and agar agar powder.

 **KIRK** also had created a clamcake. In the last two minutes, he had constructed a Frisée salad, with bacon, thinly shaved olive, bacon and feta. He set that aside, glanced nervously at the clock before pouring some red vinegar, oil, peppermint oil and the other half of his chopped leeks.

**PIKE**

And we have reached the one minute mark. I repeat, chefs, we are at the one-minute mark!

 

 **KHAN** moved imperiously back to the judges' table, seating himself as though occupying a throne, back and shoulders perfectly straight. His ice-blue stare watched as **BONES** poured what appeared to be a bean salad into his bowls. **SARK** almost looked near tears as he struggled to get his clamcakes on the plate. One of the cakes fell onto the floor, and **SARK** stared at it, horrified, then looked up at the **JUDGES**.

 

**DEHNER**

I knew that was going to happen.

**(she sighs and shakes her head)**

 

**PIKE**

And that brings us to ten. . . nine. . . eight. . . seven. . . six. . . five. . . our. . . three. . . two. . . _one_!

Chefs, hands up please. And that is it for round one. Chefs, please come to the front.

 

The four chefs walked to the front of their cooking areas. **SPOCK** and **KIRK** ’s areas looked quite neat, with each of them having produced all their plates.   **BONES** ’ looked like he’d been in a hurry, but all four of his plates sat proudly in the staging area. His work space looked like a small, barely controlled bomb had exploded in a contained space, but at first glance, the plates looked pristine.

**PIKE**

**(gesturing to the crowd)**

How about that!? Some exciting happenings here at the Interplanetary Federation Food Network! In case you’re just tuning in to the comms, our chefs have finished the first round- appetizers.  The basket agreements, once again were  Festive Peppermint Sticks, Klingon _naH’Hegh-Deb,_ or fruitcake, geoduck, and an Andorian sparkling cider. Gentlemen, please tell us what you have prepared for us.

 

**SPOCK**

**(Stares unflinchingly at the judges.)**

I have created a geoduck clamcake and cider peppermint chutney [15].

 

**T’PAU**

You have used all the basket ingredients most cleverly, Spock. For what reason do you add extraneous visual components? They serve no nutritional purpose.

 

**DEHNER**

I found the caviar delightful. The geoduck clam cakes are perfectly cooked; not greasy at all.

 

**SPOCK**

**(Raises an eyebrow, but does not respond to DEHNER’s comment. He swallows once, and, still staring directly at T’PAU.)**

While they do not serve any nutritional purpose, the chemistry and aesthetic elements of my dish show a vast superiority of talent to my competitors.

 

 **KIRK** opens his mouth as though to speak, then shut it, clearly biting back his words. **BONES** rolled his eyes visibly, causing the **AUDIENCE** to titter in laughter. **SARK** just looked confused for a moment before he shot a quick look at **KHAN** before biting his lip and stepping forward.

 **PIKE** looked horrified at the break in routine, but **SARK** spoke over him.

 

**SARK**

Um. I’m sorry to interrupt, but uh. I can already tell how this is going to go. You know, I couldn’t fathom the reason I was invited to this show. It’s such an important event, and all of the charities are so amazing. . . why on earth would you have _me_ here? It’s like- I was just here for uh. Comic relief.

 

Both **BONES** and **KIRK** frown, and look to **SARK** concerned, as though they are going to protest. **SPOCK** remains rigid and unmoved, with no hint as to what he’s thinking on his features.

**SARK**

Look, this was an _amazing_ experience, but just looking at the three of you makes me want to crap my pants. I messed up the whole thing, and it’s like some strange existential joke that three of us made clam cakes. . . almost like we were being controlled by something that we can’t even  see!

 

Several **AUDIENCE** members dart looks towards **DEHNER** out of the corner of their eyes.

 

**SARK**

I mean- I’m a pretty good line cook and all, and I’ve worked for some fabulous people that are really talented, but I think. I _think_ , I should just go ahead and save you all the pain of eating that food.

 

**(He smiles sadly and turn to leave, ignoring everyone as best he can as he goes through the back hallway.)**

The silence in his wake was absolute. The **AUDIENCE** looked at one another, confused at the unexpected and unprecedented change in the show’s format. In hundreds of years, no one had _ever_ quit mid-episode of _CHOPPED!_ without some kind of injury.

**PIKE**

Well. Uh, wow. Okay, so uh. That was.

**(He straightens, tugging down the bottom of his uniform, nervously.)**

We will not have another exit from this round of the show, but for fairness’ sake, Chef Bones and Chef Kirk’s dishes will still be judged.  Judges?

 

 **KHAN** ’s top lip twitches condescendingly. **DEHNER** nods, looking down as the detritus of **SPOCK** ’s food was beamed out of their way, and **BONES** ’ dish appeared.

 

**PIKE**

Chef Bones?

 

**BONES**

Today I’ve created for you a hot salad.

**(He smirks a little as DEHNER takes a large bite and closes her eyes in pleasure. Her eyes pop open in surprise shock and she reaches for the glass of water.)**

 

**BONES, CON’T**

Careful, darlin’- it’s a bit spicy!  The salad, as you can tell, has beans, geoduck, cabbage and a lemon balsamic reduction with a tiny bit of a hot pepper for a kick.

 

 **T’PAU’** s graceful eyebrow raises as she chews each bite precisely, swallowing with  graceful dab of her mouth with the napkin. She stays silent as **KHAN** eats the food. For a moment, he almost looked impressed before his face smoothed back into his normal impassivity.

 

**DEHNER**

Wow, that’s.

**(She covers her mouth with a genteel cough.)**

A fantastic blend of flavors. The only thing that’s missing is a bit of citric, or acidity, otherwise this salad is a truly terrific blend of flavors.

 

**PIKE**

Chef Kirk? What appetizer have you prepared for us this evening?

 

 **BONES** ’ dishes are also beamed away, and **KIRK** ’s replace them. Where **BONES** had a down-home serving size, and **SPOCK** ’s looked perfect in its simplicity of haute cuisine, **KIRK** ’s was an almost perfect mix of the two.

**KIRK**

**(He grins boyishly, managing to look both excited and mischievous.)**

Well, Sark hit it on the nose. Three clam cakes made from the geoduck, eh? I’ve made the cake with the cakey part of the _naH’Hegh-Deb_ , and paired with it  a  sparkling cider remoulade [17]served on  Frisée salad[18], crispy pork belly, bleu cheese crumbles and a light peppermint vinaigrette. Enjoy!

 

**KHAN**

So. Shall we begin?

 

The three **JUDGES** all start eating, cutting precisely into their servings of food. The silence is almost palpable as they all taste different parts of the dish. The silence drags, and drags. . . and then a nervous girl in the fourth row squeaks a nervous laugh, breaking the silence. **KIRK** swallows, and darts a look filled with trepidation towards the **JUDGES**.

 

**DEHNER**

Delightful, Mr. Kirk. Geoduck is, as you know, known to be dreadfully salty. If it’s cooked for too long, or at an incorrect heat, the texture becomes unbearably rubbery. This? The outer cake is perfectly crispy, and flavored with a tiny bit of the gingery _naH’Hegh-Deb_. Absolutely delightful.

**T’PAU**

Indeed, Chef Kirk. This flavor profile is. . .  logical.

 

If Vulcans could glare, **SPOCK** would have clearly done so. As it was, his ring finger twitched. Violently.

The **AUDIENCE,** clearly excited by both **DEHNER** and **T’PAU** ’s approval of **KIRK** ’s dish, focused utterly on **KHAN** ’s judgement.   **KHAN** sat rigidly with perfect picture, chewing his food with even bites, working it precisely four times before swallowing.

 

**KHAN**

This is. . .

 

 **KIRK** raised his eyebrows, waiting. **SPOCK** ’s eyebrow twitched. **BONES** blinked rapidly a few times. **PIKE** bites his lip, his face looking momentarily worried with anticipation.

 

**KHAN [14]**

Adequate.

 

 **KIRK’** s grin lights up the room.

 

 

 

 

* * *

* * *

##  FOOTNOTES 

(apparently, you can only use 5000 characters in the 'End Notes' section. Oops.) 

1 Of _course_ there would be a Food Network in the future. *waves hands in flaily matter*  [ return to text ]  
2 No fic would be complete without memes. [ HERE ](https://www.buzzfeed.com/samstryker/chopped-tumblr-posts?utm_term=.pg3G2yyAP#.rkbzvyy7p) and [ HERE](https://www.buzzfeed.com/andyneuenschwander/17-chopped-posts-that-are-way-better-than-undercooked?utm_term=.lbK4G77jz#.eq7lq33AK) [ return to text ]  
3 For a live production of a cooking "reality" tv show is heavily scripted without being actually scripted, so I'm sort of merging the two here.  [ return to text ]  
4 interior of a set as opposed to exterior, or outside  [ return to text ]  
5 Voice Over  [ return to text ]  
6 Think Bruce Greenwood a la Ted Allen. You're welcome.  [ return to text ]  
7 Strangely enough, this works for both Karl Urban and DeForest Kelley. _Hmmmm_.  [ return to text ]  
8 *cough* Red  [ return to text ]  
9 Shirt Ha. Hahah. *gasps for air at own hilarity*  [ return to text ]  
10  Another one I liked, from **LilyC on AO3:**  
Reluctant Engineers for Discontinuing Scarring Hurting Injuring Roughing and otherwise Traumatizing Situations  [ return to text ]  
11 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ilnnMzK_m8w  [ return to text ]  
12 a somewhat phallic looking clam-like creature, pronounced "Gooey Duck".  [ return to text ] 13 Thanks to MaroonCamaro for the titles!  [ return to text ]  
14 A Quick note on Khan. Yes. I know that most Trek fans hate Benedict Cumberbatch's Khan with the heat of 10,000 suns. Hopefully, you'll find the image of him as a dick of a judge as hilarious as I do though. <3  [ return to text ]  
15 What is chutney, you ask? It's heaven. Think of it as a cross between marmalade and apple butter. It's sweet and spreadable, if a little on the thick side.  [ return to text ]  
16 Well, I got most of what it is from a mix of watching Marcel Vigneron on Top Chef and the rest from [ this supremely helpful article.](https://www.gourmetfoodworld.com/molecular-gastronomy-techniques-15249) Essentially, Spock has made something that looks like this:  
[ return to text ]  
17 a fancy word for flavored mayonaise  [ return to text ]  
18 Frisée lettuce is a variation of endive, aka curly endive.  [ return to text ]


	2. Round Two- Entree

 

*****

**FFN CHARITY CHOPPED EPISODE**

**FADE IN:**

**INT:** . Camera pans back from **Interplanetary Federation Food Network** logo, showing the three chefs, **BONES** , **KIRK** , and **SPOCK** all clustered around a table. They are speaking quietly, words all but indistinguishable from the **AUDIENCE** ’s uproar of sound at the previous round’s exciting ending.

 **EXT [19]: SARK** is seen in what appears to be a hallway, smiling a little bashfully into the camera.

**SARK**

Yeah, it wasn’t my best showing. I know that, you know that, we all know that. Still, did you know that the FFN and this amazing Risian Grande made a 50,000 credit donation in my name to my Charity? Those REDSHIRTS. . . maybe this will really start things up, get them turned around!

**(He lowers his voice, conspiratorially.)**

 

Y’know? I think the Universe kinda thinks of us as a joke. Call it what you will. I just. . . had a funny feeling that I was gonna go first, y’know?

**(He smiles again, shrugs, and waves, leaving the hallway and disappearing through the double doors.)**

**INT: KIRK** has put what looks to be a set of light up, jingly  reindeer antlers [20] fixed onto a headband onto **BONES** ’ head, and a two dreidels on long springs fixed onto a headband onto **SPOCK** ’s  head [21] . On his own head **KIRK** was adjusting his own headband, a jaunty-looking  Santa hat.  [22] **SPOCK** looks as though he would take it off, but when **KIRK** grins unabashedly at him, he very clearly forces himself to keep the ridiculous thing on. He even nods, once, sending the dreidels bouncing along everywhere. **KIRK** is obviously delighted, while **BONES** rolls his eyes heavenward, clearly praying for strength.

**BONES**

I thought ya’ll didn’t care for each other, what with Chef Hobgoblin kicking your finely shaped ass to the curb at the _Maru_.

**KIRK**

Bones! Come on now, he didn’t kick me out. We just had a. . . uh. . . difference of opinion is all.

 **KIRK** darts a nervous look towards the camera then down to the surface of the table, cheeks pinkening. **BONES** raises an eyebrow, opening his mouth to start to respond, before frowning deeply at something on **SPOCK** ’s face. Unfortunately, the **CAMERA** missed it; **BONES** ’  head blocked the **CAMERA** ’s view. [23]

**SPOCK**

Indeed. Chef Sark leaving was most fortuitous. I welcome the challenge of cooking against the both of you.

 **SPOCK** might have been talking to the other two men, but his brown gaze seemed locked on **KIRK’** s blue. **BONES** muttered something that sounded very much like ‘oh for fuck’s sake’ under his breath, and waved his hand in between the two of them, as though attempting to gain their attention.

 

**BONES**

‘Difference of opinion’ my ass.

 

**SPOCK**

Chef, why do you persist in speaking about your posterior? It is most perplexing.

 

**KIRK**

**(Interrupting)**

I think they want us now! Time to go!

The three beings file out from the small room and to the main cooking area. At seeing them, the **AUDIENCE** goes wild. The stadium area has been broken down; where there once was four cooking stations, there now was only three. Shiny black baskets sat on each of the stations. Each backdrop is a viewscreen, so that the studio audience has the most perfect view possible. There is a small, silver orb sitting on the corner of each cooking station, between the basket and the **JUDGES TABLE**. All judges look to be wearing small head communicators that sat comfortably in the ear and stretched towards the mouth, like a microphone.

 

**PIKE**

Gentlemen! Greetings, and welcome to the Entree round. Each Chef will now have their own commentary judge. Judges and Chefs have been predetermined by a random draw.

 

The lights dim and the spotlights flit around the room, finally zeroing in on each of the **CHEFS** . The silver orbs light up, then flicker, until five-foot tall, holographic images of each of the **JUDGES** appear before their partnered chefs. **BONES** has **DEHNER** , **KIRK** has **KHAN** , and **SPOCK** has **T’PAU. KIRK** ’s Adam’s apple bobs, as he swallows visibly.

 

**PIKE**

Chefs, I hope that you are indeed ready for a challenge! Judges, ready for your commentary? ****  
****  
**KHAN** ****  
**_Ob_ ** viously. ****  
****  
**T'PAU** ****  
Indeed. ****  
****  
**DEHNER** ****  
Ready! ****  
****  
**PIKE** ****  
Fantastic. Chefs, please stand before your baskets. ****

 **KIRK, BONES,** and **SPOCK** all stood at a lose parade rest, looking as one towards **PIKE.**

 

**PIKE**

Okay, Chefs. You have 30 minutes on the clock to create something delectable. Kindly, open your baskets.

( **He waits, smirking a little at the faces KIRK and BONES both make.)**

Your holiday-themed basket ingredients for this round are as follows.  Chicken in can[24], Ardanan Speck[25] Borrage blossoms[26] imported from Omicron Ceti III, Bajorian  Gooseberry preserves [27] and Terran  English Plum pudding.[28] Gentlemen, your time starts now. Good Luck!

The cameras panned to the clock as it started to count down, then to the **JUDGES** as their holographic images peered at the two men and the Vulcan as they gathered their ingredients.

 

**DEHNER**

Well, folks.

**(Her eyes flash silver.)**

Ohh. That’s... Hmm. Well, I guess you’ll see--

 **KHAN** looks over at her. He looks heavenward for a moment, exasperated. **DEHNER** looks back at him, her silver eyes narrowed. **KHAN** looks off as though listening to something only he can hear, then very obviously busies himself with staring at **KIRK**.

 **KIRK** stares down at the basket, frowning. He picks up the blossoms and sniffs them, pulling off one small piece and chewing it thoughtfully. The small piece gives him an obvious idea, his grin bright enough that even **KHAN** seemed taken aback by it. He turns on his heel and strides towards the pantry, grab several baking ingredients and some plums before running back.

 

**KHAN**

Tedious.

 **KIRK** rolls his eyes and starts rolling out what appears to be a pasta dough. The camera quickly switches to **SPOCK** who has opened his can. He turns it over and raises an eyebrow at the _shcluuuuuup_ sound it makes as the whole, over-gelatinous mass sides into the large bowl. He looked at **T’PAU** who had also raised an eyebrow at the unappetizing mass.

**BONES**

**(Turns to camera, smiling confidently.)**

Looks like some fixin’s for chicken and dumplings!

He gives **KIRK** a filthy look as he sees the other chef rolling dough through a pasta maker, but relaxes when **KIRK** uses a small hand-laser, crimped for rectangular ravioli shapes to shape the ravioli halves. **BONES** quickly assembles his own dough mixture, cutting in cold butter into his dried ingredients. He shaved some garlic and shallots with a deft hand, then mixed it together with milk, adding in a small amount each time until it reached the consistency he wanted.

The camera cuts back to **SPOCK** who quickly cut a piece of the chicken from the mass and popped it in his mouth.  The corners of his eyes tightened  [29] , then narrowed. He quickly cut it off the bone, scooped up some of the chicken-flavored gelatin, and popped the whole thing into a high-powered blender. The Vulcan walked briskly to the pantry and came back with a protein.

**PIKE**

Chefs. . . It appears that all of you have a plan. Now? Only you can execute it. Or. . . you will be. . .

**(He pauses for dramatic effect.)**

 

CHOPPED.

Just to recap for our viewers off-planet, Chef Spock appears appeared to be using Mussourgskian chicken breasts, and blending the chicken in a can to a liquid form. Spock? Would you care to enlighten us on your plans for the entree dish?

**SPOCK**

Indeed. My culinary vision for this round will highlight the nutritional elements of each ingredient, while focusing on my exemplar technique to bring forth a fully-developed flavor profile.

From stage right, near where **BONES** works diligently, is a coughed “bullshit!!,” just barely discernible. **KIRK** very obviously bites the inside of his cheek, but remains silent.

**PIKE**

Ah. Right. Sounds, yummy. Chef Kirk?

**KIRK**

Sure, Admiral. Well, one of my mom’s favorite foods was borrage blossoms. She ate them with everything. Loved ‘em on those little cucumber sandwich thingies when she had people down to the farm. So tonight, I wanted to use them as a savory element, paired with the chicken and some mascarpone for stuffed ravioli. I also used that chicken- wow, that was something huh? Don’t think I’ve ever seen chicken ah. _Quiver_ quite like that before- some of the err. Chicken goo, and some of the borrage in a quick stock where I plan to cook my pasta.

**PIKE**

Sounds delightful. Chef Bones?

 

**BONES**

Goin’ down home for this one, sir. Chicken and Dumplings, with some gooseberry cornbread.

 **PIKE** ’s eyebrows raise to his hairline as he glances at the clock.

**PIKE**

And that’s Eighteen minutes left on the clock, gentlemen!

He steps back to confer with the judges. Each judge splits their attention between the chefs working busily at their stations and questions viewers had commed in. All three chefs work at a level that makes their work look like some kind of art. **SPOCK** shakes a whipping siphon and sets it to the side, then turns gracefully to stir something on a skillet. **BONES** bends to put the mini cornbread molds into the convection oven, while slicing gooseberries in almost perfect slivers, and tossing them in a small bowl with some sugar and salt. **KIRK** brushes butter on his pasta, carefully crimping the edges around the filling. Absently, he pops a small piece of speck into his mouth, then turns to the sauce he’s building.

**T’PAU**

The olfactory element to this competition has stimulated my sublingual and parotid glands. [30] **PIKE**

Oh, indeed. Shame the views all over the quadrant can’t smell what we’re smelling here! Which brings me to our lovely accommodations, graciously provided by the---

**(He is interrupted by a huge crash. PIKE turns towards the sound, alarmed.)**

KIRK has collapsed.

**BONES**

Jim!

 

 **SPOCK** whirls and almost in one motion, darts around the camera equipment on the floor. He crouches down to take **KIRK** ’s pulse, face completely blank.

 

**SPOCK**

He does not appear to be breathing.

 

The **DIRECTOR** rushes out miming a cutting motion on her throat. In an instant, an opaque privacy screen drops between the studio audience and the chefs, and all cameras stop broadcasting the live feeds. The **DIRECTOR,** a beautiful terran woman, exudes a calm sense of purpose as she snaps her fingers. In moments the judges are escorted out of the cooking stadium, and extras have turned off all the stoves and ovens.

**SPOCK**

He does not appear to be _breathing_.

**(SPOCK’s voice trembles very slightly.)**

**SPOCK** bends and starts rescue breathing, while **BONES** starts loosening **KIRK’s** Chef’s jacket.

Within moments, medical personnel beamed in, secured **KIRK** on a stretcher, and beamed out, leaving both **SPOCK** and **BONES** alone in the center of what had recently been a thriving cooking competition. The **DIRECTOR** frowns and moves purposefully forward, staring daggers at the lowly ensign fiendishly typing the scri----.

“I said _cut._ ”

“Uh. Yes. Certainly, ma’am.” The nameless ensign scurried out with a sigh of relief, feeling as though they just barely have escaped some sort of impending doom.

The Director turned towards Chef Bones and Chef Spock, both of whom still looked a little shell-shocked at the suddenness of the last few minutes. They slowly straightened. “You two!” She snapped her fingers again. “My name is--”

Feedback shrieked through the area, causing everyone to wince.

“We just call her Number One.” Pike smiled a little wryly. “Don’t know what we’d do without her.”

“Flattery, Pike. Not necessary. Just doing the job for which I was hired. Preliminary medical reports are indicating that Chef Kirk had an allergic reaction of some sort, and is responding well to medical treatment. He does not appear to have any next-of-kin, so I’ve arranged a beam-out for the both of you in approximately ten minutes. Pleasure meeting you.” She shook Bones’ hand and nodded once at Spock and bustled off, calling out orders in a no-nonsense voice.

“Uh. . .” Bones wiped his forearm across his forehead.

“Indeed.” Spock tugged his chef’s jacket twice and squared his shoulders. “It is fortuitous that the medical staff was able to administer aid to Mr. Kirk with such speed. Number One is most efficient

“You have no idea,” Pike smiled. “She’s amazing.”

“I’ll say. And don’t think for a _second_ that you’re gonna weasel out of going with me to the Med center.”

“I do not wish to cause Mr. Kirk more stress.”

Bones rolled his eyes. “Oh please. _Not_ having you there will break the poor kid’s he-- er. Well, never you mind about that. But you’re coming, Spock, if I have to tackle you into the beamout myself.

“A movement of that nature would be most illogical. And dangerous.”

Lights started to swirl around them.

“Wait! Wait- what do you mean dangerous? Spock? _SPOCK?!”_

Pike shook his head as the two beings disappeared in a swirl of lights. He sighed, staring forlornly at the techs who rushed around, cleaning the set. “Well. . .. shit.” He sighed again, pulling off his mic and setting it on the judge’s table.

Number One appeared almost out of nowhere, and Pike jumped a little. “No. Not the ending I wanted either. But what can you do? Those three are pretty much a textbook case of ‘expect the unexpected, yeah?”

Pike nodded.

“I’d pay good money to be a fly on the wall when Kirk wakes up though. Whew. With all the knives around here I’m surprised that all that tension wasn’t cut a little sooner.”

She bumped his shoulder companionably, and the two of them walked out of the set, side-by-side.

TBC IN THE THRILLING CONCLUSION! [31]

 

* * *

* * *

## FOOTNOTES

19 Exterior  [ return to text ]  
20These totally exist.

  
[ return to text ]  
As do These:

[ return to text ]  
Bruh.

[ return to text ]  
23 **cough** Holy Deus ex Machina, batman.  [ return to text ]  
24 I do not know if a mere footnote can adequately explain the disgusting gelatinous goo that is a chicken in a can. When you open it, it makes a " _schlooooop_ " sound and the can looks like it's giving birth to the chicken, which is covered in what looks like chicken jello. It tastes like it's been in a can for easily three decades, and anything that is actually "chickeny" has left the building long ago.

[ return to text ]  
25 Mmmmm. Think of Speck as fancy bacon. I usually eat the deli Jewish kind, which has a slightly different spices, but this would probably be the English or German kind of speck, which is (sort of ) a type of bacon.

[ return to text ]  
26It tastes a little like a flowery cucumber. :D

[ return to text ]  
27 The skin tastes like sour grapes, but the fruit part is nice.

[ return to text ]  
28 I only tried it once, and remember boozy raisins and being a little worried that it was cooked last year. Sorry that I can't be more descriptive, but you can read more about it here: <https://terriskitchenuk.wordpress.com/2011/11/30/christmas-pudding/>

[ return to text ]  
29 Which for a Vulcan is like screaming with the worst EWWWWWW!!!! ! ! ! 111!!!! face imaginable.  [ return to text ]  
30 Vulcan for 'the smells are making me drool'  [ return to text ]  
31 I promise the last chapter will show up much sooner than this one!  [ return to text ]  



	3. Round Three

“You have ten minutes.” 

Jim nodded, shifting slightly in the chair, trying not to sweat too obviously under the bright stage lights. He knew, intellectually, that there had to be a large crowd of beings in the room, but as far as audience-sized noise went, it was dead silent. To his left sat Bones who was busy flirting with the host, and to his right Spock sat rigidly, face carefully blank. 

Jim knew why he was nervous. His plan had come to him about ten seconds after reading the comm that invited him to be here, and he knew what he wanted to do.  During the competition, he’d been in his element, cocky and confident, ready to raise all the money he could for his charity. Now, he felt like he was about to vibrate out of his skin at the slightest provocation. 

To his complete shock, Spock turned slightly towards him and spoke. “Are you well,Kirk?” 

Jim swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Just a little nervous.” This was either going to be the most amazing and rewarding thing he’d ever done, or the result would send him hiding into the furthest reaches of the galaxy, with a name change and probably facial reconstruction surgery. There would be no in-between. 

“I see.” 

It was  _ painfully _ clear from the look on Spock’s face that no. He did not see, but wasn’t going to push the issue. 

“Okay we’re live in five! Places, everyone.” 

Bones stood up to smooth out his clothes, then sat down again on the chair between the two of them. “Jimmy, you look like you’re about to have a damn heart attack.” He leaned a little closer to get a better look, then his eyebrows furrowed with concern. “No, really. Jim. What the hell?” 

Jim started violently when Bones reached out to take his hand, not-so-surreptitiously taking his pulse. He forced a deepth breath, then  a smile, and managed to relax. 

“Can’t think of a time when you’ve been this worried about stage fright.” 

Well, it wasn’t  _ exactly _ stage fright that had Jim wound so tight. But Bones, and every other being that tuned into the broadcast, watched it after it aired, for ever and ever would. . ..

“And five. . . four. . . three. . . two. . .  _ one _ !” 

“Welcome to  _ The Talk _ . I’m your host Christine Chapel, and absolutely delighted to bring you what is perhaps the most highly anticipated resolutions of this century. As everyone who is  _ anyone _ knows, two months ago, Christopher Pike hosted an episode of  _ Chopped _ that had a rather. . . unanticipated ending. We have now the first, exclusive,  _ highly _ anticipated interview with three of the participants from that episode. But first, I’d like you all to join me in a moment of silence for Chef Sark, after his untimely demise with a bowl of pasta fagioli.”

Jim blinked.  

The ’moment’ lasted for barely a moment, before Chapel nodded and turned again towards the Jim, Spock and Bones.  

“Okay, first and foremost on everyone’s mind, how  _ are _ you, Mr. Kirk? Can you explain what happened?”

Jim squared his shoulders. “Sure. Well, as you may know, my childhood was. . . uh. Rather unconventional. I was born in space, and then spent some time off-planet, and that resulted in some crazy allergies.  “Most of them I’ve found by now, but this one took me by surprise. Actually, really by surprise. As in, in a coma-for three weeks by surprise.” Jim shrugged. “Won’t eat borrage blossoms again, I guess. Live and learn.” He smiled, and Chapel beamed back. 

“Wow. And Chef Bones, how have you spent your time since  _ Chopped _ ?” 

Bones itched his eyebrow. “Well. Funny you ask that, Christine. Actually, I kind of decided to put my money where my mouth is. After what happened to Jim, well. He’s my best friend. Been that way for damn near forever. And I was so.. Helpless. I didn’t know how to help him. I’d been trained as a damn medical professional, and. . .” Bones trailed off, then cleared his throat again. “Well, I was reinstated and have signed back into the Starfleet Medical Academy. Have about a year of makeup exams to get caught up, but. . . yeah.” He grinned, a little shyly and ducked his head. 

“Bones!” Jim slapped his back. “That’s incredible, man.” He settled back in his chair and knew he was grinning, proud of always at his friend’s accomplishments. 

“Yeah, well. Seemed like it was time.  _ Chopped _ was gonna be my last hurrah, you know? And it still was- just not quite how I thought it would be.” 

“And Spock.” Chapel’s smile turned knowing. “I know that you’re not one to put yourself out there, but I feel like the people need to know, to understand the depths of your boundless---”

“That is not necessary,” Spock, usually one with impeccable manners, hastily interrupted. 

“Oh, silly. Of  _ course _ it is!” Chapel turned to the studio audience and smiled at the camera. “Mr. Spock here not only donated over 100,000 credits for  _ each _ of the charities involved, but he managed to get several hundred people to match his donation, resulting in a donation of over 4,000,000 credits!”

Jim felt his jaw drop. 

There were several beats of silence, before the audience went  _ insane. _

Jim stared at Spock, still too shocked to speak. The very tips of Spock’s ears had turned a dusky green, a fact that Jim found made his heart do funny things. Well, that or the fact that the Tarsus Foundation would still get something, despite his flaking out. He’d only been able to muster a few thousand credits. Not that they’d ever say no to any donation, but last time he’d checked, Kevin had very politely told him that he had done enough and not to worry about it. 

Spock looked terribly discomfited. All that was missing was him  scraping his shoe against the floor and going ‘aw shucks’. 

“It is of no matter.” 

Jim caught a glimpse of Bones’ face, and figured he might literally have hearts in his eyes. He looked down, quickly thinking of his plans and deciding to scrap the somewhat kamikaze idea he’d had planned. There was no way that he could pull that out now. Not and steal any of Spock’s thunder. Not after such an amazingly sweet gesture. 

“It’s pretty damn awesome, Spock.”  

Spock turned to meet his gaze, and Jim nodded. “I mean it. That’s. . . incredible.” Jim started to reach out to Spock, but remembered just in time who it was that was sitting next to him and managed to turn the movement into an awkward tap on his own knee.  

“I am gratified that you are well, Mr. Kirk.” 

“Jim.” Jim smiled a little. “After everything, I think you can call me Jim.” 

“Well, Mr. Kirk! You mentioned that you had something to share as well. I admit, I’m very curious to what would make you break your rule against interviews in order to come on our show.” 

“Oh. Uh.”  Jim gulped. Shit.  _ Shit! _ He hadn’t had time to think of something else- some other reason for being here. Chapel was right- he’d had something big to say- some sort of ridiculous gesture. Problem was, he hadn’t thought of anything else as a plan B. 

Bones leaned forward, hitting him with the crazy brows. Bones knew all of his bullshit meters, and knew them better than Jim did. 

“Oh, no, Jimmy. I can tell you’re tryin’ to backtrack. Best just stick with your plan there.” 

“My... plan?” Did his voice just squeak a little? 

“Yep. You know, you have a helluva interesting habit of writing out your thoughts in your Chef’s log.”  Bones smiled beautifically. 

Jim’s eyes widened. 

“I... fail to understand.” Spock looked adorably confused as Jim and Bones volleyed back and forth. Chapel also followed the conversation like an old-fashioned tennis match, looking like Christmas and all of her birthdays had come early. 

Jim opened his mouth, and paused. He shut it, then huffed a breath, impatient with himself. He was being ridiculous. 

“Uh.”... Shit. Jim took a deep breath. “Well, the truth is, Spock, I wanted to come clean about a couple of things. The first is that working with you at the  _ Maru _ was an incredible experience. I learned so much from your tutelage, and can never thank you enough.” Jim heard Spock’s short inhale of breath, but he didn’t react otherwise. “And. . . the second thing is that I almost didn’t do this.  _ Chopped _ I mean. I was off planet, working with Scotty- you know Scotty, right? Likes booze and sandwiches; makes crazy concoctions that can’t  _ possibly  _  taste good, but end up blowing your mind? We had plans to roll out a new menu at the  _ Enterprise _ . . . uh. Shit, I’m babbling. Um. Okay. Long story short? The only reason I accepted this gig in the first place, even with the fact that I knew I could do right by the Tarsus Foundation, was because of . . . you, Spock.”

Jim let out a long, relieved breath, happy to have finally gotten it out at last.  The studio audience was dead silent. Bones and Chapel both looked like they’d witnessed something explode- something that was very jucy with the potential for huge amounts of humiliation.  Spock. . . Spock looked  _ furious. _

Jim’s mind went blank.  It went blank as he watched, dumbfounded as Spock stood up and walked off stage, ignoring the stage manager’s squawked requests to stay put, to wait for a commercial break. 

“Oh,” Jim looked down at his shoes, feeling as though what was left of his heart had broken into at least three hundred pieces. He bit his lip. 

Chapel was saying something, flustered and wringing her hands, but Jim didn’t hear her. He only saw the look of pity on Bones’ face before he jumped up and pelted after Spock, ignoring the cacophony of voices behind him. 

He didn’t know where to go on this side of the stage. Jim didn’t know what look was on his face, but when a shocked, pale-faced stagehand pointed to a door at his left, he barreled forward and through without really thinking about anything, except the feeling of his heart dropping to his feet when Spock had  _ walked away from him. _

“Listen, you stuck-up, overly finicky, Chemistry-sucking--- _ mmmmmph!” _

A pair of lips crashed down onto his as two inhumanly warm hands ghosted over his face, and neck, before settling on his shoulders. He felt himself sandwiched between the closed door and the impossible heat of Spock’s body in front of him. Jim was pretty sure he was still talking for a minute there before his brain figured out that it was Spock (!!!!)  kissing ( **!!!!!!!)** him ( **_!!!!!!!)_ ** and that was pretty much the most amazing thing that he could have wished for. 

Eventually though, Spock must have realized that neither of them had gills (at least Jim was fairly certain that Vulcans didn’t have gills- he’d have to investigate that later.) and took a step back. Jim blinked up at him, struck absolutely stupid by the kiss, by Spock’s proximity, by the absolutely crazy shift that his life had taken in the last five minutes. 

“Oh. . .” Jim breathed, lips stretching into what had to be the goofiest looking grin ever grinned in human history. 

“You. . .” Spock brushed his lips over JIm’s. “Are the most.” He kissed him again. “ _ Infuriating” _ ... kiss “man.” kiss kiss. 

“Oh?’ Jim stared at Spock, raising one eyebrow. 

“Indeed.” 

Jim heard a muffled knock on the door, and an embarrassed, “Uh. Gentlemen?” 

Jim stretched to kiss Spock, ignoring the interruption at the door. He knew that this really didn’t solve anything, and lord knew they probably had a ton to talk about, but for now? Now he was just where he wanted to be. 

“Uh. Sirs?”

. . .

“ **_Sirs_ ** _?” _

(muffled) "Aw, damn, someone tell McCoy he's gonna have to juggle or something. I'm pretty sure those two aren't coming out of that closet for... awhile."   
  
  


 

.....

 

The END!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there!!
> 
> *waves*
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this silly thing. The lesson I learned is that footnotes might look cool but they're a major pain the the butt! Still, this pairing is near and dear to my heart... and I apologize for the super long wait for the end to this fic!!


End file.
